“Last Universal Offspring (Uncommon)” by Ella Flores

Hungover seagulls stumble dawn in. Who told you
you came from water? The morning people

attempt to slow it down, their scattered outlines:
cut-outs against cloud-haze. Who told you to listen

for the coos the hermit crabs collect
in their conch shells? A forgiving gesture to all
prodigal children, an apology for having

thrown them out, a primordial lullaby they refuse
to believe is their own recursive echoes

to lead them back to every ocean, from here
to Enceladus—Hush, motions the wetness,

tranquila, levantando los pezones de sus olas
to our lips, singing a hum we heard before lungs,
blanketing our skin, tucking hush with every surge,

with each arm wrapping around. Who forgot to tell us
the edges of the world are soft.